There’s an office holiday party this weekend. I’ve got a short black dress I plan to wear, but everyday on the bus I pass the most wonderful dress shop with the most stunning window displays. I don’t generally gape at clothing, but these are so beautiful and artful, it makes me want to engage in credit card frenzy. Last week there was a dress where the skirt was designed to resemble a monarch butterfly. This week the dresses are a deep dark red and they hang, they drape, perfectly on the mannequins. It’s maybe the first time I’ve seen and understood how clothing is meant to soften and flatter the figure, even when that figure is a rigid piece of plastic without a head.
In the back of my mind I think, someday. Someday I’ll wear a dress like that. There will be an occasion that’s worthy enough, that’s special enough, that I can justify the expense of such a “frivolous” purchase. The logical conclusion then is to start gunning for some prestigious award with a large cash prize, and once I’m nominated and invited to the awards show, I can buy whatever frelling dress I want. Clearly that’s my only option.
Well then, I better get off my ass and do something award-worthy. Or I’ll never be a pretty, pretty princess.
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